


three minutes to closing

by Yuisaki



Series: voltron challenge week 2017 [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, they're college students but i couldn't cram that info in there rip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 13:44:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9900776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuisaki/pseuds/Yuisaki
Summary: “So you don’t know his name,” Pidge says slowly. “And he says meme-y things. And he always comes in three minutes before closing, and—”“Always leaves on the dot,” Keith adds. “And uh, he never orders the same thing twice in a row.”Pidge’s face is blank. “A customer who leaves at nine on the dot and never orders the same thing twice in a row,” she repeats. She opens her mouth, closes it, and taps at the screen of her tablet, hopping off the counter. “I’ll just tell everyone I didn’t get the answer out of you.”“Pidge,” Keith protests. “I mean it.”“And I think you have a cryptid customer,” Pidge says.(or: eccentricities in a small coffee shop where a cuban boy with cute dimples only exists three minutes to closing.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> day 3+4 (au+ free day) of voltron challenge week! i keep combining the days bc of that Low Key Minimalistic Effort Aesthetic lmao. this was just a small little thing that i wanted to get out before the day ended, so hope you enjoy! thanks to bread and beck for editing lmao <3<3<3

It’s three minutes to closing when the Man comes in.

“Ayo,” the Man says, snapping off his regular sharp salute. Keith rolls his eyes and continues wiping down the counter. “What’s bangin’?”

“You say shit like that every time expecting I’ll understand,” Keith says. “What’s even the point.”

The Man gives him a shrug. “I have hope,” he says confidently. “One day. One day.”

Keith shoots him a doubtful look, but says nothing else on the topic. He chucks the rag under the counter with the rest of the Other Strange Miscellaneous Items and wipes his hands on his apron. “Alright, what do you want?”

The Man pouts.

Keith sighs and tries again, “What would you like?”

And the pout is replaced by pleased smile, cheeks dimpling at the corners. “Medium iced espresso,” he requests. “Today’s name… hm. The Dark Knight.”

Keith pins him with a flat look. “What.”

“Hey, the movie was really good, okay?”

Keith waves it aside. It’s not the weirdest of the names the Man has given him. “Not that. It’s December. And almost 9 PM. You sure you want an iced espresso?”

“Please,” the Man says, shooting him dual finger guns. He pulls on imaginary sunglasses and looks out the window. “You see, I love to die.”

Keith stares blankly at him.

The Man’s finger guns falter, and he tucks his hands back into his pocket. “One day,” he sighs.

Keith rolls his eyes again and takes the clear cup out, begrudgingly scrawling ‘The Dark Knight’ on the side. He whips up the espresso in no time and slides it against the counter. “Two-fifty, please.”

The man slides five against the counter and winks at him. “Keep the change, buddy.”

Keith’s eyebrows knit together but he puts the five in, places two-fifty in the tip jar.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Keith,” the Man says, waving.

“You too,” Keith calls. The door chimes closed.

Keith glances at his watch. Nine, on the dot.

And that’s that.

**

He’s not exactly sure when the Man started coming in. He remembers it was sometime during summer, on one of those cool nights where Keith liked to keep the door propped open to let the breeze in (even though his manager scolded him for letting in flies). And although the day or month escapes him, the next part he knows clearly.

The first time the Man ever appeared, it was three minutes to closing, back when their closing times were earlier and they stopped taking in customers at eight instead of nine. The Man, for whatever reason, came in a Hawaiian shirt in the most disgusting shade of green that ever existed and cargo shorts to match, all smooth brown skin and gleaming blue eyes.

“Ayo,” he had said, snapping off the first salute that started an apparent tradition. “What’s hangin’?”

Keith tilted his head. “Hangin’?”

He wasn’t sure if it was the soft lighting of the shop that made it seem like a flush dotted his cheeks.

“Never mind,” the Man said. “Can I get a hot latte? Large?”

Keith carefully kept the surprise from his face. “Name?” he asked, though it wasn’t particularly necessary considering he was the only other person in the shop.

He hummed. “The Man,” he said.

This time, Keith couldn’t leave his face blank. “The Man?”

“The Man,” the Man confirmed.

Keith shrugged. Well, alright.

After having to make a no-whip skinny white mocha with three pumps of caramel and sugar-free vanilla swirl just hours earlier, a hot latte was a piece of cake. He placed the cup on the counter. “Four-seventy.”

The Man slid a five across the counter. “There you go. Keep the change.”

He shot finger guns on his way out. Keith glanced at the clock. Eight o’clock sharp.

The door chimed closed.

And that was the beginning.

***

One day, his coworker Pidge asks him how he gets so many tips on his shift.

“I have ten bucks saying that you secretly run a fighting ring,” she whispers to him conspiratorially. “But James—you know James—he says you’re a mafia boss and sometimes you order your underlings to come in and make you look good on your day job. Twenty. And Shiro…” Pidge wrinkles her nose. “He says you just give good customer service.” Then she grins. “Exactly two quarters.”

Keith’s a little offended at that. “Two quarters?”

“Yup.”

“I give fantastic fucking customer service,” Keith snaps, glowering at the mop in his hands. “But you guys _bet_ on me?”

Pidge shrugs. “We live quiet, vaguely unexciting lives with equally unexciting jobs in an equally unexciting town. What else are we supposed to do?”

“Live out your unexciting lives in unexcitement like the rest of us?"

“Well, why would we do that?”

Keith sighs and continues mopping the floor. Pidge jumps to sit on the counter and swings her legs. “Anyway, your secret?”

Keith tries ignoring her and when she just kicks him in the hip instead, he lets out another sigh and sets the mop down. “I just... I just have a guy,” he says.

“A guy?”

“A guy. Who, uh, comes in. Three minutes before closing.”

“Really.”

“Yeah. He likes to shoot finger guns and say really weird stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” Keith raises his voice a little. “‘Ayo, what’s slangin’?’” He drops his voice again and ignores both the flush spreading across his cheeks and Pidge’s loud cackle. “Or something. I never get what he’s saying.”

“Oh, that’s hilarious,” Pidge says. “So what, he only comes in on your shift?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“What’s his name? I might’ve served him.”

Keith’s flush goes deeper, and he bites his lip before eventually saying, “The Man.”

Pidge chokes. “The–the Man?”

Keith nods and stares at the ground, face on fire.

“So you don’t know his name,” Pidge says slowly. “And he says meme-y things. And he always comes in three minutes before closing, and—”

“Always leaves on the dot,” Keith adds. “And uh, he never orders the same thing twice in a row.”

Pidge’s face is blank. “A customer who leaves at nine on the dot and never orders the same thing twice in a row,” she repeats. She opens her mouth, closes it, and taps at the screen of her tablet, hopping off the counter. “I’ll just tell everyone I didn’t get the answer out of you.”

“Pidge,” Keith protests. “I mean it.”

“And I think you have a cryptid customer,” Pidge says, before disappearing in the back.

Keith hides his red face in his hands.

***

The billionth time the Man comes in, Keith doesn’t wait for his salute or weird greeting. Instead, as soon as it hits 8:57 and the door chimes, Keith’s head darts up, and he blurts out, “My friend thinks you’re a cryptid.”

The Man’s hand wavers, and he drops his arm along with his jaw. “Cryptid?”

“Cryptid,” Keith says uncomfortably. “Um, she asked why I was getting so many tips, and I said you came in three minutes before closing and left on the dot and never ordered the same thing twice in a row, but then she said she might’ve had you on her shift before and asked what your name was, but then I realized, like, I don’t know what your name is since you—since you, uh, never gave me it? So I’ve been calling you the Man in my head since the first time you came in, and it was stupid when I said it aloud to her, and now—” Keith cuts himself off and inhales.

The Man’s eyes are wide.

Keith feels himself flushing. “So uh, yeah,” he finishes awkwardly, eyes falling to the floor. “Cryptid.”

A long pause.

Then: “Fuck.”

Keith looks up. This time, it’s not just his imagination. He Man’s cheeks are most definitely red. “You,” he starts, then trails off, groaning. “God. You’re like… really cute.”

Keith freezes. Turns to face the Man slowly. “Me?”

The Man nods, still flushing. “Yup,” he says. “You.”

Keith’s ears are buzzing. “Oh,” he says.

The Man swallows visibly and hesitates before taking a step closer to the counter. “Um, so, my name isn’t actually the Man or the Dark Knight or Braylon or Ezequiel or Xzavier with an ‘x’ and a ‘z’. I mean, initially, I just said the Man because I was kinda buzzed the first time I came in and I have like, zero impulse control, Hunk says so all the time. And I don’t know why, but for some reason I like to come in after watching rom-coms, so I just finished watching She’s the Man, right? And so first thing in my head was the Man, and there it was. Couldn’t take it back without feeling stupid. And Hunk’s smart but sometimes he has dumb ideas so when I felt too embarrassed to come in here again, he suggested I just do every stupid thing I did the first time, like it was just some weird quirk.”

The Man breathes in. “So I just… did it again.”

“And again,” Keith says.

“And again,” the Man repeats. He rubs an embarrassed hand against his face. “Oh, man, this is humiliating. So my name—it’s actually Lance. And I’m not a cryptid. I exist in daylight too.”

Keith can’t restrain his smile. “Lance?”

Lance starts and straightens. “Yeah?”

“Just wanted to test if it worked,” Keith says. Lance snorts. “And another thing, Lance?”

“Yeah?”

Keith forces the words out of his unwilling mouth, not about to let nerves ruin this for him: “How’re my chances of getting you coffee without serving it to you?”

Lance’s mouth falls open. Keith waits patiently even with the heat in his cheeks.

A quiet squeak escapes Lance. “I… With me?”

“With you,” says Keith.

“Oh,” says Lance. “I, uh… high chance. Very high chance.”

“Okay,” Keith says. “Nine tomorrow? That’s when my shift ends.”

Lance gives him a bright grin. “Yeah,” he says. “I know. Sounds good, Keith.”

“Sounds good, Lance,” Keith replies, with a matching grin.

Lance returns it and waves before escaping the shop.

The door chimes closed.

And _that's_ the real beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me at yuisaki-drabbles.tumblr.com!


End file.
